


Friendship Means Keeping Secrets (Like that I Think You're Beautiful)

by kikitheslayer



Category: House, House M.D.
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Femslash, Missing Scene, if you don't think too closely, secret friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikitheslayer/pseuds/kikitheslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes fic. Amber and Thirteen were closer than anybody knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship Means Keeping Secrets (Like that I Think You're Beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ты прекрасна, или У дружбы - свои секреты](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842475) by [syn_filifjonky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn_filifjonky/pseuds/syn_filifjonky)



Thirteen is sitting on the white blanket of her hotel bed. It’s dark outside, but there are dim, colored lamps lighting the side of the pool, which can be clearly seen through the french doors.

She’s reading a paperback novel, but she’s been rereading the same sentence for about twenty minutes. She sighs and tosses it across the room to fall with a thump onto the tight brown carpet. She flicks off the lamp next to her bed and falls on the cushions, throwing an arm over her eyes.  
She’d been at the resort for a week and a half and she still couldn’t get her mind off it. Any of it. Not Huntington’s and definitely not Amber.

 

Day one. She’s walking to her car from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. This whole thing is bullshit, but she suspects it’s going to be entertaining bullshit. And if she doesn’t get the job, she’ll just move on. It’s simple. Everything is these days.

It’s raining softly. One hand is tucked into the deep pocket of her coat, and the other is fishing her keys out of her purse when she hears a voice behind her.

“Hey, you!”

She knows who it is without turning around. It’s the blonde doctor, the one who got half the team to quit. What was her name? Amber?

“What?” she asks, not turning around.

Amber catches up to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Really?" she sighs. "I was wearing it on my chest.” She’s unlocking the door now.

The girl crosses her arms. “So… what’s up?”

Thirteen pauses for a moment. “What do you care?” she finally asks.

Amber cocks her head. “I met everyone today, and I’m putting my money on you. If we’re going to be working together, we may as well get to know each other.”

Thirteen rolls her eyes. “You may think I’m smart, but you’re not talking to me because you want a friend. Right now you’re thinking about how you can get me out of the competition.”

Amber’s congenial smile fades. “You don’t know that.”

“I study people, too.” She climbs into her car and shut the door with a slam.

 

Amber doesn’t waste much time trying again. She follows Thirteen into the parking lot, catching her earlier this time and falling into step next to her.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi!” responds Thirteen, turning a fake, cheery smile on her. She picks up her pace.

Amber catches up to her again. “You need to loosen up,” she says. “Let’s get a drink.”

“Well, why wouldn’t I want to be your friend? I mean, you already got me a dog collar. I bet you do that for all your friends.”

Amber rolls her eyes. “You had me pegged from the first day, remember? I do what it takes to win. Now do you want to go to a bar or not?”

“Are you delusional?”

“Realistic,” says Amber. While she is speaking, she steps in front of Thirteen so that she’s walking backward. “Maybe I am trying to get in your head, but I’m giving you an opportunity to do it, too. Actually, I’m just a girl who recognizes when two people have a lot in common.”

“Like we’re both lonely assholes? Oh, wait, that’s just you.”

“You’re the loneliest person I’ve ever met, Three.”

“Thirteen.”

“Same diff.”

“Watch the pole, hot shot.”

Amber glances behind her just in time to step out of the way of the metal rod.

“I’m not looking for a friend,” says Thirteen.

“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t like one.”

Thirteen holds up a finger. “One bar. And only to keep you from stalking me.”

 

It becomes routine. The two have a set of unspoken rules. One: we are not friends. Two: At work, we will pretend to be as much strangers to each other as everyone else. Three: we only meet at bars. Four: no personal talk.

It is a cumbersome relationship, not at all like the one started by Cole and Kutner. It is tenuous, it is joyless.

At least, that’s what they believe every moment when they’re not together. But Thirteen has started smiling without realizing when Amber steps wordlessly in pace with her in the hospital parking lot, and Amber often finds herself thinking of what she’ll say to Thirteen about whatever ridiculous thing House is doing now.

Amber is the first to break one of the rules. “I thought we’d could go somewhere else tonight.”

“What, like a dinner date?”

Amber shakes her head. “Better. My ex is this big-time surgeon, and he invited me to this hospital-ball-thing tonight to try and win me back. I was going to bring a date to spite him, but if you want to go…”

Thirteen raises an eyebrow. “Could the great Amber Volakis not score a date?”

She snorts. “As if. It’ll just be more fun if you come.”

“More fun than a boy? I feel so flattered.”

“Come on!”

“If you insist,” Thirteen sighs.

“Yes!” Amber cries, grabbing the other woman’s arm and tugging her to Thirteen’s car. (Amber always takes the bus.)

Amber convinces Thirteen to let her drive them to her house. There, she stops in the kitchen to grab a gallon of ice cream and two spoons, before pulling Thirteen into her bedroom.

Thirteen takes a seat on the blue comforter of Amber’s, the neapolitan ice cream between her thighs. She notices that the strawberry is almost gone, as compared to the vanilla. She takes a bite of the cold, white dessert while Amber pulls dresses out of her closet.

“So what’s the deal with your ex?” asks Thirteen. “He cheat on you or something?”

“Please. Damien was _devoted_ to me.” She holds up a purple dress and Thirteen shakes her head.

“So why’d you break up?” she prods, running her fingers down a white dress Amber had laid on the bed.

“He was boring,” replies Amber. She holds up a red velvet dress. “This for you?”

Thirteen takes it and Amber continues, “I want a guy who can form an independent thought, you know?” She sits down next to Thirteen taking the ice cream. “Someone who doesn’t have to talk to you every hour.”

Thirteen nods and stands. She walks into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door. She comes out a few minutes later, the soft fabric clinging to her curves, stopping just above her knees. “How do I look?” she asks.

Amber grins. “Better than he ever did.”

Thirteen smiles back. “Let’s get you dressed. How about this white one?”

“You like that one?” asks Amber, taking it from Thirteen’s hands. “I haven’t worn it in forever.”

She takes the dress and leaves the room, yelling, “Don’t eat all the chocolate!”

When she emerges it’s in a lacy, off-white dress that stretches all the way down her arms and to her ankles. “This is so old,” she says. “Seriously. I wore this once for halloween to be a zombie bride.”

Thirteen considers her for a moment. Her blonde hair, falling neatly around her neck, her pale skin edged with pink. “I like it,” she tells her.

“Okay,” says Amber. She turns to her vanity and puts on red lipstick and blush. Then she pins back her hair with a white bow and turns to Thirteen. “Your turn!” she cries.

“What?”

“Something subtle…” mutters Amber. She proceeds to adorn Amber in soft pink lipgloss and eyeshadow. Her hair she pulls back in a loose ponytail. “There!”

Thirteen glances in the mirror. “Wow, CB. Nice job.”

 

The ball is held in a hotel. The room is lit with glittering golden lights reflecting of the hardwood floor. The two girls walk in side-by-side, their heels clicking. They fill plates with chicken and bread from the buffet and navigate themselves to an empty table.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. The room is too loud for much talking anyway.

A man with gelled black hair walks to their table. “Amber!”

She leans back in her chair. “Hello, D.”

“I’m so glad you made it,” he says, taking one of the empty seats. he looks at Thirteen. “Who’s your friend?”

“Thirteen, Damien. Damien, Thirteen.”

“Hey,” the dark-haired girl added.

“Hi… Thirteen.”

“I think I’m going to go dance. Thirteen?”

She nods and stands up.

Walking to the dance floor, Thirteen says, “That was cold.”

“What?” laughs Amber. “He shouldn’t have invited his ex to a fancy party.” She takes Thirteen’s hands and guides her over the dance floor, one hand on her back and the other holding hers.

“You’re quite the dancer,” comments Thirteen.

“I took lessons when I was younger…” Amber spins Thirteen. She laughs, and Amber follows suit. They spend most of the evening like that, hand in hand, chest to chest, one with the orchestra.

When they stop, they stumble to the dessert table, breathing heavily. Most of it is gone, but they split a large piece of raspberry chocolate cake, the crumbs sticking to their make up, cleaning frosting off their lips with sweaty fingers.

When a middle-aged man with white hair steps on the podium they sneak out the back door. It’s near midnight, and the sky is streaked with stars like a child who knocked over a vial of glitter. Thirteen gives Amber a boost to lie on a dumpster and lies down next to her. They gaze at them together, naming constellations like a cliche movie scene.

Neither is sure when they stop looking at the sky and start looking at each other, but it’s Amber who initiates the kiss, pressing her sticky lips to Thirteen’s soft ones. Their breath is pulled away from them, replaced with the heat of their joined skin. Their heads rest on uneven metal, but neither notices, too caught up in their own fairy tale.

They press together for what feels like an eternity when Amber backs away and kicks herself off the dumpster. “I have to go,” she says. “You can keep the dress.” As she walks away, she mutters, “It looks better on you.”

Dirt stains the back of Amber’s white dress. She takes the bus home for the first time in weeks.

It was the first time they didn’t hang out in a bar, but it wasn’t the first a rule got broken. They started being friends long before then.

 

Neither speaks about it. Thirteen catches her eye in the middle of House’s lectures, her wrist in the hallway, but lets go when she sees Amber face. It’s the same one she’s seen every time a girl was a little too drunk one night and a little too straight the next day.

They hang out again. Thirteen catches her in the parking lot. She asks if she wants to get a drink. Amber says yes. They meet in a bar.

 

The end of the “interview” is coming up and their friendship is on uneasy ground. On the one hand, any day is a day closer to the one where they may beat each other out, but on the other, it seems more and more likely that they may both survive. And what then? ‘Oh, hey, we’re actually friends?’ How would House react to that? They’ll burn that bridge when they come to it.

They become adventurous. One day Thirteen drives them to her own apartment. It’s far less homey than Amber’s, there are still boxes of unpacked possessions, but the brown couch Thirteen picked up at Goodwill for twelve dollars doesn’t seem quite so gross when they’re stretched out together watching old episodes of Firefly.

“I once convinced all five of my siblings that Firefly season two was out,” Amber comments.

“You’re evil,” laughs Thirteen.

“This a surprise?”

“Whatever, Cutthroat Bitch.”

Amber rolls her eyes. “Says Thirteen.”

“Remy.”

“Huh?”

“My name… it’s Remy Hadley.”

Amber digests the information. “Remy. I like it. Maybe not what I would have guessed, but…”

“I’m sorry my name doesn’t live up to your expectations.”

“No, no!” Amber cries. “It’s pretty, really.”

Thirteen smiles. “Thanks.”

Other things come out: mainly Thirteen. It’s not like she was actively hiding her bisexuality, but it’s been a little awkward ever since the kiss. She ends up making an off-the-cuff remark about some actress or another and a few questions later, actually uses the word. It’s freeing. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted Amber to know.

 

It’s pouring rain, just like the end of their first day when Amber followed Thirteen into the parking lot. This time it’s reversed, thirteen rushing, still in her lab coat, trying to catch an Amber that’s walking to the bus stop, her back turned, blonde hair damp, though she doesn’t seem to notice.

“CB!” she cries, picking up her pace.

So does Amber.

“Amber, wait up!”

She doesn’t turn around. She’s early to the bus stop, though, and is forced to slow down.

“Amber,” says Thirteen.

“Leave me alone.”

Slightly out of breathe, Thirteen says, “You should have gotten a job. It was unfair of House to rule out because of one stupid thing.”

Amber turns and for the first time Thirteen can see the tears in her eyes. “One stupid mistake is all it takes,” she says.

The bus rolls in. It is driving away by the time Thirteen realizes she has no change.

 

Thirteen shows up at Amber’s a few hours later with a new gallon of neapolitan ice cream. She bangs on the door. “Let me in!” she cries.

Amber opens the door slightly. “No,” she says.

Thirteen wedges her foot in the door before Amber can close it. She holds up the ice cream. “Let me in,” she repeats.  
“Just go already? Please?”

Thirteen can see that Amber has been crying from her red cheeks and nose and damp eyes. “Amber, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job.” She tries to pull the door open and finds herself sparring with Amber. “But you can’t just shut me out because I did get it!”

Amber rolls her eyes. “This isn’t about you getting the job.”

“Then what?!” She drops her hand from the door.

Amber stumbles from the sudden change in weight, but quickly regains her balance and steps outside, shutting the door.  
She leans against the doorframe. She cocks her head.

After a moment, Thirteen says, “I’m sorry. House was wrong.”

“Thanks,” says Amber quietly. “I’ll see you around, okay?” She opens the door, but Thirteen catches her arm.

“Woah, woah, woah. You can’t just leave like that. I… brought ice cream, and said sorry. You have no right to be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh, I believe that.”

Amber stands and smiles slightly at her. “No, no… I’m… really glad you got the job.” Tears prick her eyes like fire.

“So, why are you acting so weird?” demands Thirteen through clenched teeth.

“Because every time I look at you…” she struggles to get the words out, like nettles growing in her stomach they sting her throat. “I remember that I’m not you.”

“There’ll be other jobs.”

Amber crosses her arms, angry. “How dense are you? I want to be you because you’re… proud. I grew up with five siblings. We were close in age. Home was a battleground when your parents actually had a favorite child.” Tears are leaking down her face now, and she angrily rubs them away. “I was their favorite. I knew how to work their bullshit system.” Her words fall from her lips one by one, like each is its own challenge. “But all it takes is one mistake, right? Sixteen. That’s how old I was when I got caught kissing a girl in my car. Never was their favorite again.”

“I’m sorry,” said Thirteen, her mouth open, because what was she supposed to say?

“It’s okay,” says Amber. “I just… Sometimes I wish I could be like you.”

Thirteen glances at the ground. “No you don’t.”

She meets Amber’s questioning eyes. “Huntington’s. Fifty percent chance. Haven’t gotten tested.”

“Oh,” whispers Amber. After a moment she says, “You want to come inside?”

Thirteen steps forward, accidentally bumping a little into Amber. She wraps her arm around her for a balance. She goes to apologize, but when she glances to Amber’s face their eyes meet.

They’re kissing. Thirteen’s arms around Amber’s neck. They stumble inside, their bodies pressing together, looking for heat away from the cold night air. Amber kicks the door closed. Neither realizes that the ice cream is still outside.

They plop on the couch, their lips still touching. Thirteen allows her tongue to plead in ways she never did out loud, for Amber, for this, for contact.  
Amber’s hand digs her hands in Thirteen’s hair. She lets herself melt into a softness she’d never felt with any other date, Thirteen’s smooth skin feeling like silk under her fingers.

Thirteen hands move down until they caress her waist. They slide, up, up, feeling under her shirt. They roam like a ex-christian new to Heaven, trying to see everything they had once dreamed of, everything they hadn’t thought they’d get. And if Thirteen is an atheist, then god, Amber is heaven.  
Slowly, Amber pulls her lips away, sitting up. She stares into Thirteen’s eyes, her mouth forming a small “O”.

Not Heaven. Just a really good trip.

Thirteen pulls her arms away.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Thirteen stands. As she’s leaving, she says wistfully, “See you around, CB.”

 

They stop hanging out. Thirteen sees Amber around the hospital, usually walking with Wilson. She looks happy.

They only speak one last time. Amber shows up at Thirteen's apartment. She stands in the hallway with her arms crossed.

"What's up?" asks the dark-haired woman.  

"We're getting you tested," Amber replies.

"What?"

"Huntington's, remember? You can't live your life not knowing if you're dying or not."

"Wait, this is how you're going to play this? You don't talk to me for weeks and then think you can just show up and--"

"Oh, how I've missed that whining voice."

"I'm not getting tested!" 

Amber tosses up her arms up.

"So what? You make us call you Thirteen. You can't say you don't want to know if you're dying when you live you like you are."

"I'm the screwed up one? You like me, you just won't date me because, why exactly? You had a homophobic parent when you were sixteen?"

Amber stares into her eyes for a moment, anger flying from both sides. "Just... just forget I even cared."

 

Those are Thirteen’s memories of Amber. She has a thousand more, of Amber’s cutting comments, smiles, jokes, and even one of her drunkenly singing on karaoke night. She remembers the last night, too, but wishes she didn’t.

“I didn’t even like her,” she tells House. If he can tell it’s a lie, he doesn’t say anything. Maybe it isn’t a lie. Maybe she did hate her. Not enough to want her dead.

And when Taub asks if they really liked her, she doesn’t say “yes.” She doesn’t say “of course,” or “I did,” or “too much.” Because friends keep secrets, even in death, and what she had with Amber is a secret. Always will be.

They say goodbye. She opens her arms, and Amber opens hers, and she tries to say everything she couldn’t in that hug.

She feels Amber’s breath against her ear, knows she’s going to speak before she does. Her mind flashes with a thousand things Amber might say:

“I’m sorry.”

“I should’ve picked you.”

“I love you.”

Instead, Amber breathes a raggedy, “Thank you.”

Wilson stands to the side. Thirteen catches sight of him and moves back, just in time to hear, “You…”

And she never got to hear the last thing Amber Volakis wanted to tell her.

 

Laying on her hotel bed, she can’t help but think, “If Heaven is real, at least I’ll get the end of that sentence a little sooner.”  
That night, drifting to sleep, a sentence floats the the front of her mind. It keeps pounding in her head, like a ghost, haunting her:  
“You were my best friend.”


End file.
